The Soup Is Not People, But Probably Chicken
by huggs5
Summary: Hannibal catches a cold and Will brings him soup. Light Hannigram fluff.


sick!hannibal with a side of hannigram fluff !

* * *

"-almost comatose," Beverly Katz points at the victim with the end of her pen, Will Graham is posed thoughtfully with his fingers at his chin a few meters back, Jack Crawford is standing watching them all with his arms folded, Price and Keller are scouting the ground for evidence. Nothing is amiss. Except Dr. Lecter; who isn't feeling exceptionally well today.

He swallows with difficulty past his dry throat and sniffs. So he's coming down with a cold or a flu or something, he's sure he's not infected with anymore more severe. It could be the cold knocking him about a bit too, but he finds it unlikely as he blows a steamy breath out between his chapped lips. It is cold though. It's snowing and his fingertips are numb and his nose and cheeks are pink and he's shivering ever so slightly in the middle of the night when one duvet doesn't quite suffice. He can't remember coming into contact with anyone who was sick and he can't remember getting _that _cold. He can however, remember being coughed on by an old lady at the service station while he was fueling up his car two weeks ago. _Rude_. He had thought bitterly. That must be it.

"-ask Doctor Lecter?"

He starts out of his thoughts and glances around at all of them and their inquisitive glares, trying to deduce what kind of answer he has to give.

"Hmm?" he mumbles.

"If you cut the artery in the thigh it recoils, right?" Katz asks.

Hannibal fumbles over his words unceremoniously and manages to spit out half a yes before he just nods, defeated. Will cocks an eyebrow at him and Jack frowns concerned like. Hannibal smiles at them both and manages to wave away all concern for himself in one fell swoop.

That afternoon Hannibal sits in on one of Wills classes and pretends to listen. His eyelids are heavy and his sinuses are clogged and _there's so much dust in the air_. The light from the projector to the screen is full of little particles that go in and out of focus the longer Hannibal stares at them. He's jolted out of his thoughts by Will mentioning his name.

"-was assisting us at the crime scene, everybody say hi," Will points up to him, and suddenly 50 voices are chanting 'Hello Dr. Lecter' too enthusiastically for his liking. Hannibal manages a smile.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully; Will goes about his usual business and tidies up his work desk, then teaches another class. Hannibal notices Will's more confident when he's in the room. For lunch, Will drags him out of his seat and they eat sushi from a small place a few blocks away. Hannibal rarely eats anything he hasn't prepared himself but upon closer inspection and some tentative pokes, he eats most of it. It would be rude not to considering Will paid for it all.

"You're quiet," Will says, placing his sushi roll on the plate.

Hannibal glances up from his meal, "Feeling a bit under the weather."

Without warning, Will places his cool palm against Hannibal's forehead. The chilly tips of his fingers touch his temples. "You're kinda warm."

Hannibal closes his eyes briefly, relishing the touch; only for it to the taken away almost instantly. "I may be coming down with something."

"Don't give it to me."

"I'll try my hardest."

The next morning, Hannibal is curled up in his sheets with one leg sticking out and one arm under his head to replace the pillow that must have been thrown to the floor in the middle of the night. His body won't decide if it's hot or cold. He's shivering constantly. He sneezes into the silk of the pajama sleeves balled up between his fingers and groans. This means he has to cancel all the appointments he had made for today. He groans again, and fumbles blindly around on the bedside table to fetch his cell phone, which coincidentally rings just as he picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Finally!" Will Graham exclaims from the other end.

Hannibal grunts in response.

"Are you feeling okay?"

He grunts again.

"I'll take that as a no."

Grunt.

"Do you want me to come around?"

Grunt.

"I don't know what you're trying to say but I'm coming anyway."

In an hour Will appears at the door to a very snotty Hannibal Lecter; he's got tissues shoved up his nose and a bag of peas on his head. He looks poorly.

"I made you some soup," Will says proudly, shoving a slightly conspicuous plastic container at him. The bottom of it burns his fingers.

He bows his head and steps back for him to enter, "Thank you."

Unsurprisingly, the first thing Will does is check his temperature and asks him if he has any patients to attend to, to which Hannibal replies that it's all taken care of. Will seems satisfied.

7:00pm rolls around fast, and after a light meal of some cereal that Will found in the back of a cupboard that was (miraculously) still within its expiry date, Hannibal curls up on the couch with a blanket tucked under his chin. It shatters the professional demeanor he tries to uphold all the time and just makes him look quite vulnerable. Will plonks down beside him and scoots closer.

8:00 appears and Will is flicking through the news and the prime time movies before settling on _The Office UK_ and putting it on mute. Hannibal's head is resting on his thigh, and his fingers are curled around the fabric of his sweatpants, and he's snoring lightly. _Awwww_. Will suppresses a smile and tugs the blanket up over Hannibal's shoulders to stop him getting sicker than he already is. Will knows he's not going to get any peaceful sleep so he goes back to watching TV.

When the digital clock reads 2:35am, Will is sound asleep with his mouth wide open. He's snoring. Hannibal is sniffling occasionally and never once lets go of Will's pants. Will wakes up that morning dry, save for the patch of sweat where Hannibal still sleeps, and he's happy.


End file.
